Discord
by Nini
Summary: Rogue is having problems with life, problems with the past and problems with her special friends, special friends who arn't really friends at all. Rated for sensitive subject matters: cutting, suicide, ect..


Crap to be noted:

Well the first time I wrote this thing...it sucked, it sucked ass, so I'm rewriting it with my not-so-new-found spelling and grammer, Hopefully it won't reek of ineptitude this

time 'round...Be forewarned I don't think I'll be finishing this unless by some chance I feel like it...which is actually pretty good .

Disclaimer: I don't own a god damned thing.

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Discord

Chapter 1: Her Pain

The mansion was silent, Logan had retired to his room but minuets ago and it didn't look like he would be coming out any time soon, a fact which Rogue was thankful for as she quietly crept down the dimly lit hallway to the bathroom.

Entering the bathroom in the most casual manner she could muster she hurriedly flipped the switch and locked the door. Heaving a sigh of relive she put her back against the door and slid down to her knees, ' Why the hell does that man always take so damned long to go to bed anyhow.' She thought in frustration as she pulled a small black box out of her pajama bottom's pocket."Its not like any sane person is going to be up to anything at this hour anyway" she grumbled as she pulled herself off the floor and over to the sink.

Turning slightly she placed the box on the counter and began removing her shirt .Her mind was blank as she tossed her shirt on to the floor. She looked up into the mirror ' This is mine' was the only thought going threw her head. The reflected image was just as horrific as the flesh version, over a hundred deep scars scattered her upper and lower arms.

Looking at the box she reached over to it with shaking hands and slightly labored breath. Pausing briefly as if giving herself a chance to back out she shook her head slightly and lifted the lid revealing a simple looking razor blade.

Hesitantly she picked up the sharp object with her right hand and shifted it between her thumb and forefinger. She then looked over her left arm, 'No space...' she thought vacantly as she took the razor to the same position in her left hand. It yeiled the same results. This had been happening for the past few 'sessions' as she called them. There was no place she felt she HAD to mark that she could. There where many places she desired to bleed but she did not care to be caught, arms where the most practical thing because do to her mutation she ALWASY had them covered, but other various parts she preferred to keep clean, ones that were most likely to need medical treatment for instance. Her hands where another no-no; When fighting or with the professor working on her control her gloves inevitably came off. She hadn't given into temptation yet, but she was getting closer to giving in. 'No one would notice, just one little cut, you got it while in the Danger Room...NO!...I can't...I might get caught, this is mine, I can't loose this.'

Becoming frustrated with herself and feeling emotions she cared to ignore begining to surface with unneeded mental commentary from the locals(Which was how she referred to the voices she absorbed) She stopped contemplating where to do it and picked her stomach, it was fine right? 'No one has ever looked there before, after the scabs go away I can just say it happened in a fight if anybody says anything'. Nodding her head as if to confirm it with the Rogue in the mirror she lifted the razor with her left hand she pressed the sharp blade hard against her stomach, right above her belly button.

She closed her eyes and pulled.

She kept them closed as she did it agin.

And again.

After the third slice she opened her eyes and saw two cuts beginning to bleed and the last still a stark white line. As the one on bottom began bleeding openly she began taking off her pajama bottoms and underwear not wanting to get any blood on them. As she bent forward to push them to the cold tile below her feet she felt the pain; it was sharp, stingy and hers.

Her pain.

Not a memory of pain

Her real pain.

Looking back into the mirror she smiled as 3 rivers flowed down her stomach and onto her legs.


End file.
